


(promised) i would never leave

by UnAmusings



Series: Heaven Blessed [5]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Jon Snow is easily manipulated by children, Light Angst, M/M, Married Couple, Mpreg, Tormund Giantsbane is a Softie, child birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-23 04:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20002036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnAmusings/pseuds/UnAmusings
Summary: Taking a deep breath, Jon knows that whatever may come years from now, or the next month, he will be much better prepared for it than he is right now.





	1. so many things I want to say

**Author's Note:**

> Though not necessary, please read the previous parts for more fluff. 
> 
> Title from, " _Lullabye,_ " by Billy Joel. 
> 
> Unbeta'd!

Little tugs of his fingers push through his sleep addled mind, but not enough to pull Jon awake. His body feels heavy with exhaustion and he tries to snuggle further into the bed. The tugs turn to gentle pokes at his cheek, and Jon gives up trying to go back to sleep.

Opening his eyes feels impossible, though. With every attempt, he feels sleepier. Jon curls in around the warmth in his arms, pulling it closer. 

"Da!" Edur squeaks, "Stop it!"

Jon smiles, wrapping around his son like a limpet. Even with his eyes shut, he can find his son's forehead to kiss it. That seems to make Ed preen, as he wiggles to leave his own kiss on Jon's nose. 

"No more napping, Papa is coming back today!"

Suddenly, Jon feels energy vibrate through his limbs, shocking his system awake. The babe in his belly seems to feel it, too, if the kick to his back is any indication. He opens his eyes to find his son tracing the movements through Jon's shirt. 

"The baby is excited too," Jon says, a bit gruffer than he intended. He takes Edur's hand to press it next to his belly button. "That's their head."

The entirety of his son's blue irises flare as his eyes widen with wonder. Their first born, entirely too smart for his age, had been very adamant to learn everything he could with a bullheadedness he must have gotten from Tormund. Every midwife that they met had been interrogated by the four year-old, Jon would be mortified if the pride he felt wasn't stronger. 

Especially thankful for the curiosity the past two days, since his husband had left for the hunt. Considering Ed had come early, Tormund had not wanted to leave just when he started his eighth month. For all Jon's fuss about how he could look after the house so that Tor could do his chiefly duties, he still missed the heat by him at night. Restlessness and limited mobility had him yearning, feeling the absence like a stone rattling his mind. Little Ed had been so sweet, fetching tea and breads when asked, Jon nearly cried for having raised such a good boy. 

When midday had come, Jon ached from tending the crop, visiting the healer, and giving Edur a bath. He had settled down next to his son for his nap, but the toddler had twisted his tiny fingers in Jon's hair, and the rest was history. 

Ed squirmed as he sat up, "Da, can we wait for Papa at the gate?" 

Jon tried to pat down the mess of curly bed head that his son sported like a crown. Even as a child his hair had never been so wild, he could only guess that the True North brought the unruly out of everything. Or, that Jon's curls paired with Tormund's waves was a fatal combination. 

"I think Papa would love that."

Sliding off his bed, Ed scrambled around his room looking for his over shirt and boots. Various wooden figures littered the floor, and despite his clumsiness, Ed hopped around them. Of all his toys, his animals were his favorite. He had sat by Tormund as his husband whittled away each fish, bear, and rabbit. With an _aha!_ , Ed put his shirt on. 

Carefully, Jon pushes himself up, struggling with the shift in his center of gravity, "Love, your boots are under the bed."

Standing up proved difficult, but he's thankful that he was still fully dressed. He had changed out of his wet clothes after Ed's bath, and he had not intended to fall asleep. The nap had given him more energy than the past nights had together. 

Buzzing with energy, Ed stood before him. Nearly perfect: his shoes on the proper foot, but his rumpled shirt was on backwards. Laughing, Jon pulls the linen off to right it. 

As they walk through the hut, he asks "Do you think Papa catched a stag?"

"Caught," Jon corrects out of habit, and Ed nods, ever studious. "Papa's a great hunter, we'll find out when we see him."

Opening the door brings a blast of sunshine. The village was bustling, Jon can see the busy people going about their day from the top of the path. Familiar faces wave as they pass by. Ed bounces beside him, a ball of barely contained energy. 

"Papa said that he'd make me a direwolf out of horn if they _caught_ one."

Jon pulls his son close, as he starts to talk a mile a minute. Time has passed so quickly, he can't remember when his little one grew to reach his hip. His chest felt laden with grief. Soon he would be joining his son on his first hunt or even marrying a love of his own. Taking a deep breath, Jon knows that whatever may come years from now, or the next month, he will be much better prepared for it than he is right now.

"Do you think Papa missed us?"

"Without a doubt."

Edur wraps his hand around Jon's, swinging it between them, "You missed him, too."

Surprised, Jon looks down but the four year-old is focused to the gate in front of them. The high walls block everything beyond the settlement. Though he wouldn't admit it, excitement has his toes curling, and wishing to peek through the cracks between the wooden planks. It seems too perfect when the doors shift and start opening. 

On the other side, stands Ghost at the forefront, the direwolf big enough to block most of Tormund's body. Ed runs forward, abandoning his grip on Jon's hand. Slowly, he walks, giving reassuring pats to the weary hunters, but he is entirely blindsided when steps around Ghost to see his husband. 

In his arms, a little girl is clutching to Tormund as her eyes flit between a confused Edur and a baffled Jon. Her face is covered in muck, with twigs stuck in her hair. 

One look is all it takes. An entire conversation passes between him and his husband. Something hidden along the lines of pure panic and an instinct to nurture, Jon steps forward. While the little girl's vice grip rumples Tormund's shirt, Ed ducks behind his leg. His husband is rubbing up and down her back

"This is my family I was telling you about," Tormund whispers as he bounces up and down. 

As softly as he can, he says, "Hello, little one." Her brown eyes glisten, as her breath turns shallow. "I'm Jon."

"'m Lova," trembling lips struggle to form the syllable. 

"That's a beautiful name."

Her clutch on Tor loosens. From where he is, Jon can make out the shape of a button nose underneath the grime. Something deep inside him is horrified by her thin wrists, wants to wash her up and put a bowl of stew in her hands. But her delicate fingers reach out to pull at a string of his hair, a small smile barely there, still stealing the air from his lungs. She looks down, waving shyly at Edur. 

It's all the four year-old needs to lose his wariness. With raised arm towards his papa, Tormund picks him up and both children look perfectly happy in his arms. He gives his father a kiss on the cheek before focusing all his attention on Lova. 

"I'm Ed, and I think your name is pretty, too. My Da calls me love, but it's not the same." 

Lova giggles as she wipes at her eyes. Between them, his husband catches his gaze. Jon feels a rustling beneath his ribs, the babe in his belly responding to his racing pulse. There's an unspoken conversation that carries in that moment. 

He knows there is a reason that it was Tormund who found this little girl lost. Like he knows that she won't be leaving anytime soon if he has anything to say about it. While he had never expected that their family would grow some months too early, Jon already feels a spot open in his heart. The children bicker, though it's mostly his son chatting away while Lova listens to the younger boy. 

Jon steels his resolve, "I think it's time for lunch."

A look of relief morphs Tormund's face, and underneath it all, he can see the love. He smiles at his husband while rubbing just underneath the swell of tummy, before turning around towards _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Lova! Her names means vow and I thought it was too good an opportunity to pass up. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed
> 
> Follow me on tumblr, [_@unamusing-s_](https://unamusing-s.tumblr.com/)!


	2. lullabies go on and on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Every inhale reminds him of his luck, makes him question why he has so much of it. To be able to be here, holding his world in his arms, is a privilege Tormund feels undeserving of._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My FBI agent is surely skeeved by my research history, I know so much about labor now and like? Crazy shit man. So scary. 
> 
> I know the little bit o' angst is off brand for me, but you'll see, fluff is always the answer.

The day had started like any other. Tormund decided to take charge of breakfast so Jon could sleep in. Lova and Edur were thick as thieves, giggling about their plans to play after their chores. A pleasant morning.

That night hadn't been as such. The newest addition to their home had woken with a nightmare, weeping uncontrollably about losing her father at the Battle of Winterfell, while the dead rose in the crypt. Jon had spent the wee hours of the morning comforting her with a glass of warm milk, and stories of his youth. Tormund watched on, his heart full of warmth. 

Going to bed again, he had kissed Jon for all he was worth, and they resumed their usual positions. Tormund's arm forfeit to be a pillow, Jon's head tucked just under his chin, black hair blending into his beard. Completely normal. 

When early morning came and passed, the children picked peas in the garden, as Tormund went to wake his husband to eat. Except when he'd gotten there, Jon was groaning through a contraction, fists clenched in the sheets, eyes shut tight in pain.

Everything moved too fast for him to even register what was going on. All he could remember was going to find their midwife, and stuttering through an explanation. 

By the time he had returned, the children were a mess of worry. Edur was trying to be brave even through his tears, but Lova had been silent. Her brown eyes so dark, Tormund could only wonder what went through the ten year-old's mind as she breathed heavily. He huddled them into his arms, keeping them close to his thumping heart.

Something flared in his brain, Tormund's gut screaming that this was different than the first labor with Ed. With their first, Jon, the lovable idiot, hadn't even noticed the first few hours of labor, until the healer pointed out that his belly had dropped. A side effect of literally knowing the pain of being stabbed in the heart, Jon hadn't recognized what the cramps were. The next two days were full of waiting as Jon became a legend in the village. Completely silent during his first babe, even the midwives were impressed. This time around fills Tormund with terror. 

He was getting ready to settle in for the long haul, when Jon's scream rang through the house. Ice ran through his veins. Lova began sobbing while Ed whimpered, clutching his little hands over his ears. His eldest daughter burst into the hut, a look of worry on her face that would rival his own. Munda swept up her younger siblings to take them away. No chance of saying goodbye, Tormund left all three of them with kisses on the forehead before they were gone.

Suddenly, he was standing alone in the unnerving silence. Only the echo of labored breaths behind a closed door to distract him from every tense muscle in his body. Just when he thought it couldn't get worse, the midwife's aide opens the door. A gravity is etched onto her face, and he swears his heart shatters. 

"We need help," she says. "The baby's pushing on his spine."

Air rushes into his lungs like life itself was starting again in his chest. Another scream acts as an axe to Tormund's brief flare of hope, though. He has never heard so much pain in one voice. 

"I'll do _anything_."

She leads him inside the room, and Tormund swears it looks ravaged by war. He can't recognize it as the same place he had slept in this morning, even with his winter furs in the corner and Long Claw resting just off to the side. The bedsheets are soaked.. Tubs of water within reach, and a stock of rags nearby. Few sires have ever been inside the birthing suite, Tormund is not sure if any of it is normal. 

"We need to get him kneeling, but the labor's made him weak. "

Tormund can't find his voice, it feels lodged deep in a pit strapped down by fear. Everything is slipping through his fingers. There is nothing he wouldn't do to keep it their small piece of paradise. 

"What's wrong?" comes tumbling out of his lips, just shy of a whisper. 

As annoyed as the aide looks, behind the roll of her eyes is gentle appreciation. Her hand rubs at his drawn shoulder, teasing his muscle down from its perch by his jaw. 

"He'll be fine," she reassures. "But, the way he's settled, Jon can't feel the contractions over the pain. He needs to get off his back, so he can push when they come."

From where she is reminding his husband to breathe, the midwife huffs, "Giantsbane, get yer'ass over here."

He stumbles to Jon's side immediately, grateful for every bit of muscle he has. Kicking off his shoes, he climbs into the bed. Jon hasn't unclenched his eyes, and Tormund doubts that he can barely register anything other than pain. Only when Tormund shifts him onto his knees does his husband cry out again and a new wave of tears fall. 

Chance gives Tormund a clear view of fresh blood and whatever else trickling down Jon's inner thighs. Trapped between the headboard and his laboring husband, Tormund bears the brunt of Jon's weight when his thighs quiver in exhaustion. His husband clenches his teeth as sweat runs in drops all over his body. On Jon's cheeks, Tormund can't tell where the tears end, only knows that he wants to take away all the pain that caused them. 

Chaos springs around them. The midwives rustle about talking in what seems to be an entirely different language. Jon wraps his arms around his neck, burying tears at the crook of his shoulder. Tormund helps support his husband's hips, while he digs into the dimples at Jon's lower back. 

In any second, he knows that everything will be a flurry of moving parts again, and Tormund takes his time remembering every detail. The way Jon wears one of his undershirts, just as he had when they went to sleep the night before. Swooping low between them, Jon's belly is covered by the loose linen, only accentuated by heavy exhales every so often. Tormund feels like a foreign object, meant to protect his little crow but desperately failing.

Jon whines high in his throat, " _Tor_."

"I'm right here."

"Hurts," he struggles on the tail end of a sob. "Just want to see our baby."

Tormund's eyes sting as he plants a kiss to the shell of Jon's ear. The shudder of relief that goes through his body as Tormund massages his cramping back muscles is short lived. Hiccups build as Jon shivers uncontrollably, bearing down as the contraction builds. 

"Breathe with me, love," he whispers. Though he struggles, Jon does his best to inhale with Tormund's expanding chest. It's the longest forty seconds of his life. "So strong, look at you."

Jon gasps as it ends, collapsed in Tormund's arms and shaking. If he couldn't feel the racing pulse against his own, Tormund would have been worried that Jon wasn't breathing. The only time Jon intentionally moves is when a midwife checks something out of Tormund's sight. Then it's only to hiss and burrow further into his arms. She rubs at Jon's back, as she throws away a bloody towel into a bucket. 

"On the next, he can push."

Sighing, Jon shifts until his leg are spread further apart, and Tormund is amazed. Jon's calves push against where he rests his feet, crown resting on his shoulder. All of this–the pain, the waiting, the stamina–is beyond Tormund, he couldn't imagine going through this willingly. 

"Everyday I love you more."

With a breathy laugh, Jon lifts his head. Dark eyes are hooded with exhaustion, but are stark to the flush of his cheeks. He wouldn't say it out loud, but his little crow is beautiful even now. Sweat weighing down his curls, lips bitten plump and red. 

They don't say those specific words often. It's something intangible, because there are a million ways it exists between them. When Jon gives him clumsy kisses him in the morning, or Tormund traces constellations into Jon's skin. But in this moment, this rare wonderful handful of seconds, Tormund is overwhelmed. He leans down, and rested their foreheads together. 

When the next wave hits, Tormund can feel the spasming under his palms as muscles flex and relax without rhythm. Jon drops his head, his breathing uneven though he tries to keep it steady. This time when he bears down, the midwife and her aide are watching intently. Tormund does not relent in keeping his husband steady, even if his muscles strain to keep them so. 

The aide whistles low, "A couple more of those, and all the waiting will end."

Humming in affirmation, the midwife checks something with her hand, "This one's much quicker than the last, aye dove? You had a right time with lil'Edur."

Jon barely has time to respond before giving into the pull of his body. Tormund watches his husband's face, contorting into agony as he pushes. The scream that Jon releases, leaves his ears ringing.

"There we go, dove, keep on going."

"Look at that head of hair."

Slumping forward, Jon cries out his name. Energy fading from them both as the end is dangled in front of them. The midwives are grinning, urging him for _just one more_. 

But when their eyes meet, the world falls away. That shy little smile that always makes Tormund's heart skip a beat is on Jon's face, and all the panic turns to ash. Tormund drops a soft kiss to the apple of his husband's cheek. The look in those earthly eyes hold an unspoken response. 

Tormund isn't sure what's happening, but he barely has to provide balance on the next contraction. Jon bears down for half a moment, enough for their hearts to thump in unison, before he lets out the largest sigh. It's pitched and breathy, and it stutters as it fades with the remainder of Jon's strength. The midwife holds a bundle of blankets, wiping at whatever is cocooned within.

There are so many sounds. The snick of shears snipping, and Jon taking the first deep breaths he's been able to for hours. Tormund helps him move into laying down between his legs, Jon's head resting on his chest. Over the creak of the floorboards, the most important noise stands triumphant: a wet garble followed by a pair of lungs screaming for their first time. 

Both of them focus on the swaddle the midwife carries, the source of all the commotion. She and her aide grab all kinds of vials and fuss over their charge. His little crow still focuses on the midwife carrying the latest of their brood when another tremble carries through his muscles. The aid is still working to clean him up. When the midwife finally settles the babe in Jon's arms, manhandling Tormund to wrap around his husband as well, he's not afraid to admit that he is a moment away from tears.

"Here's the little bug, causing lots of trouble for all of us. Quite the gem, he is."

Jon laughs though it's mostly air, and Tormund feel ready to join him. He feels rung out and ready to take on the world in turn, but instead, here he is, their youngest son so new to the world and red faced in his blankets. 

"Your hair," Jon whispers, words watery, "but my pout." 

Tormund releases a breathy chuckle, remembering what he had said all those years ago after Edur was born. He twirls his pinky into the little tuft of red at the top of the babe's head. If this was their first, he would have been convinced this was the prettiest babe in all the world, but now their little Ed has competition with his younger brother. Though his nose is scrunched up, Tormund can see how undeniably he looks like Jon–soft in ways that Tormund never had been, fine in others–but kissed by flame. 

Despite having made such a ruckus before, the little one quiets in their embrace. Every now and then, the baby releases a small trill that has them both cooing. The midwife and her apprentice seem enamored. 

"I have to admit, Jon whelps a pretty babe."

The midwife smacks her young aid upside the head, "Get back to work, and leave them to their family."

Jon is unfazed, not noticing anything other than their son. Tormund understands, unable to take his eyes off them both. He wraps around them tighter, losing himself to the steady rhythm of his husband's breathing. Every inhale reminds him of his luck, makes him question why he has so much of it. To be able to be here, holding his world in his arms, is a privilege Tormund feels undeserving of. 

When Tormund nuzzles into Jon's neck, his husband tilts his head to give better access. Clutching tighter, they both follow every movement from the newborn. Already, he seems less fussy than their first, already settling into the arms around him, but he is much bigger than Edur was. Realizing how big the babe is, has Tormund shuddering thinking about all he had seen. 

"Can't thank you enough," he mumbles. Jon makes a noise of confusion, to which Tormund whispers, "This life you've given me, I never imagined it possible."

Jon moves, his one hand intertwining with Tormund's fingers underneath the babe's butt. Their cold compared to the heat, but he welcomes the touch, craving it. 

"Tor, without you," he responds, "I'd have lived my days never knowing I deserved this."

The silence is heavy but pleasant, their words settling. Both midwives left without their notice. Despite being infinitely shorter than the first labor, Tormund feels exhausted. Pulling the blanket over them is second nature, because the quiet has him wanting to crawl with his family and sleep until the next winter. But the peace is a calm before the storm. 

Their bedroom door creaks open, revealing four heads of curious children, young and old. Torwynd and Munda look nervous, Edur held between them, but the moment Lova spots them she runs to the bedside. 

A day full of miracles, the moment the ten year-old reaches them, the first thing out of her mouth was, "Da, are you alright? Papa was so worried."

Jon chokes up, nodding in place of saying yes, and Tormund has to admit that he's right there with his little crow. He might not have the strength to brave through the emotion welling inside of him. Lova cries, though she wipes at her face furiously. Soon they're surrounded, Tormund swears this is what paradise is. 

Ed was half asleep against his sister's shoulder, but Torwynd not seeming to mind at all, sits at the edge of the bed. Munda perched at the foot, pulling Lova into her lap. 

Tormund wraps tighter around Jon, feeling the newest addition squirm as if sensing the commotion around him. His husband shushes the babe, rocking him gently in his arms. 

"Heard we've got another brother to fuss about?" Munda quips, resting her head on top of Lova's. 

He smiles, beaming at his family, "You've heard right."

"Well what's his name?"

Both of them pause. Tormund's brain completely blank realizing they hadn't even gotten that far. Worry had clouded every thought, making it impossible to worry about anything other than his husband and child. 

"I haven't the faintest idea," Jon laughs, even if it's slightly skewed with a hint of pain. 

Lova surprises them all when she speaks up. Seemingly embarrassed by her initial outburst, she stayed quiet nuzzling deeper into her older sister's cuddles. Her eyes never left the bundle in their arms. But as they all ponder, her voice rings true.

"Taite?"

Edur wiggles in Torwynd's grip, a yawn leaving his mouth, "I like Taite."

Glancing between every one of them, seeing just how different each of his children were, Tormund felt a hammering in his chest. Finally, all the waiting and patience, and their family grew all the better. 

With a final kiss to Jon's sweat damp locks, Tormund sighs, " _Perfect._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> His name means pleasant/bright which is completely ironic, and I love it cause I'm a rat bastard with no sense of subtlety 
> 
> Fyi, genitalia is ambiguous on purpose; I want the readers to interpret Jon's busines anyway wanted: intersex Jon? Go ahead! Trans man? You got it! Weird cloacal stuff I don't understand? 100%... You decide lmao
> 
> Thanks for reading! Follow me on tumblr, [_@unamusing-s_](https://unamusing-s.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
